She Loves Everybody
by phoenix521
Summary: she's not a little girl anymore. her innocence is beginning to wane. he never meant to get involved. he never meant to care. but it was so hard. she loved everybody. grilo, rated T.


a/n: hi. if you know me, then you know my usual m.o. if you don't, then here it is: i love music and more often than not, there's some song out there that reminds me of something at some point. this is no different. i've recently discovered that i love repo! and like so many others, grilo is a pair that easily lends itself to shipping. seriously.

first and foremost, this fic is disjointed. i know it's disjointed, and that's how i wanted it to be. the whole damn opera is disjointed, and i think that only adds to how much i love it. time is a little warped and though there's no real path to follow, just know the last little bit is the most recent. that will hopefully make more sense as you read. and i think this is from graverobber pov, but i'm not sure. hey, i just write these things, they have a life all their own.

the song is also off kilter, and when i really listened to it, lyrics, tune, and all, all i could think of was grilo. the song is "she loves everybody" by chester french. i really hope you listen to the song if you haven't heard it, because i think it fits somehow fits them perfectly.

so read, review, enjoy. this is but my humble attempt at writing something entertaining. and for a type of fandom i've never ventured in to, at that! hope you like it. oh, and of course, i do not own repo! i'm okay with not owning it. but i would have given anything to have been in alexa's position for any time she was in a scene w/ graverobber. oh well. and i don't own the song. just thought i'd put that out there.

* * *

_Somebody call my baby,  
Somebody call her up real quick…_

He hurried through the graveyard at a near fever pitch. If you were to ask him, he would have said he was merely taking a stroll.

He wasn't surprised when the door gave way under his gloved hand so easily. He was unconcerned that it was not locked. It had no reason to be locked. It was a passing thought, what if he wasn't the first to try the door tonight? But the thought was just a flicker.

He briefly wondered where he would find her tonight. Hiding places were harder to come by now days.

Since the good doctor had up and got himself killed, the kid had explored the rickety, dank house as though it was a totally new experience. Considering her lifestyle up until then, everything in the house _was_ a new experience.

It was like a big game of hide-n-seek, really. She was never the seeker. He was okay with that. He was always up for a good game, and the prize for winning was always too good to pass up.

At first, there had been a real challenge to find her. The house was new to both of them. But where she would get lost, he always knew how to find his way back. Now, everything was common place. The house had lost its shine.

He found her in one of the guest rooms upstairs. He'd found her there twice before, when he was really looking for her. She was perched in a plush, oversized and dusty chair, legs draped haphazardly over an arm. A hulking medical textbook was spread in her lap. He figured she'd never take after her old man, but it never hurt to have a working knowledge about the wonders of human anatomy.

She glanced up at him now, peeking at him through thick, dark curls that hung loosely around her face and swayed right to her shoulders. A crooked grin split her lips, a grin he recognized as his own, and she slowly closed the encyclopedia with a dull smack.

"I found you," he half-growled at her.

"Heads up: I wasn't lost."

_I think I need my fix._

She would say silly things like that, but he never dwelled on it long. The desire to indulge in the sweet taste of her skin would rarely let her utter more than a few coy words. He was never overly rough with her, but he knew she liked her hair pulled, just a little bit. Perhaps it was because the hair was real now. Perhaps it was because she was into kink.

She never expected him to whisper sweet nothings. She was almost a smart girl. He was never adverse to whispering dirty nothings, however. Yes, he was pretty positive that she was into kink from they she would react to that, to him.

He'd only tried Zydrate twice. Both times where much less than what he expected. He didn't float. He didn't feel warm. He didn't glow. He never got hooked. Besides, you can't deal what you're hooked on.

Being with _her_ was what he expected hits of the glow to be like. She was a much better addiction.

_Always around to please me…_

She always left him warm. Left him feeling as though he were floating in a beautiful, pale glow. She made him forget about the streets, the drugs, the dealing…all of it. Yeah, she was a good drug. And withdrawal always hurt like a bitch.

There was rarely a week in between their encounters, their little game of cat and mouse. Or more appropriately, wolf and cat. The kitten had claws, so he was reminded each time. He liked the trickles of blood that her nails would drag from his skin. Heh, he was into kink, too.

They had tried to stop this once, he recalled between thrust into her soft, yielding flesh. More appropriately, _he_ had tired to stop this once. Crisis of conscious, or something like that. An onlooker would say it was jealousy…

…That was why you didn't trust a stranger.

He had only lasted four weeks. But he came back of his own accord. He could have stayed away if he wanted to.

He didn't want to.

_Always around to take control…_

She didn't look surprised or shocked or relieved to see him when he showed back up then, finding her in her fath---in Nathan's "work" room. Her mewls of rapture (words from his own mouth, of course), belayed otherwise.

It should have been weird, no, _terrifying_, to fuck daddy's little girl in the Repo Man's Repossession Room, but he liked to live on the edge. And she was willing to straddle the line with him. He wouldn't admit to anyone, however, that it was he who was tied to the rack that night, and not her.

_I never feel alone…yeah._

With a satisfied grunt of completion, he rolled off of her and reveled in the contrast of hot and cold between his flesh and the bare wood underneath him. It was all about extremes with them.

That little girl knew how to twist around in his head. She got to him like no one else. He hated her for that. He'd never tell her that.

Sparing a quick glance at her, he saw her smiling at him. He wondered if everyone got that smile, or if it was just for him. He _would_ admit to wanting to know that.

As she crawled over to him, looking that the most sexiest goddamn kitten he'd ever seen, she placed what he would call a sweet kiss to the corner of his faded lips and he was suddenly sure that her smile was all for him.

_But you feel so clean…_

In the back of his mind (and the front of his pants), he always knew he'd mar her innocence. In a world of ways, he did. In the way he truly wanted to, someone beat him to the punch.

True to routine, he had let himself in on a Thursday night, takeout in hand. A cursory glance produced no kid, so he gave the house a twice-over.

He had found her in the bathtub in the bathroom adjacent to her father's room. The tub was one of those Victorian-types, all high-backed and clawed feet. The water had to be scalding; he could see the heat waft off the surface. The look on her face showed something was askew.

"What the fuck happened, kid?" He had asked her, unable to keep a hint of concern out of his voice.

"I didn't know it was going to hurt that much," she half-whispered.

He studied her for a moment, and then noticed crumpled clothes on the floor, blood-stained panties among the bunch.

"Christ, kid. Tell me who it was. I'll cut his dick off and feed it to 'em." He didn't quite know where that had come from.

"It was Joe," she continued on quietly. "I wanted to. I really did….I don't think I should have."

He believed her. The girl was a shit liar, so he knew she wasn't. He still wanted to castrate this _Joe_, but for reasons entirely different now.

"No one said it was always roses and candlelight," he told her. He was bad at comforting. "I brought you some food. Chinese."

He offered her the box and was mildly (read: intensely) shocked when she stood up from the hidden depths of the water and padded, naked and wet and so fucking _tempting_, over towards him and his outstretched hand.

She bypassed the box and went straight for him.

He should have stopped her when she tried to kiss him. He should have a lot of things.

_Well she craves affection._

So as it turns out, he was her second. Her best to date, obviously, but he would always feel cheated out on the opportunity that had presented itself to him from the moment she showed up in his alley, still dripping with her daddy's blood.

But she had tasted like soap and regret and…_Shilo_. He couldn't stop then. His first kiss, save for her fumbling attempts, had landed on her bare, damp shoulder. And he was hooked. It was true: it only took on hit to get addicted.

_So I use protection._

"You were smart about it at least, right?" He'd asked her almost scornfully the very next day.

"I'm not stupid," she nearly spat at him, embarrased by the whole damn thing.

"Let's not split hairs."

She glared at him. He returned the look, albeit a bit more casually.

"You're bigger than him." Her voice was passive.

"I should certainly hope so," he scoffed/smirked as he watched the blush stain her cheeks. Not so passive after all. "I bet I even knew what I was doing, didn't I?"

Oh yes, he'd corrupt her yet. He was good at what he did.

"I hate you, you know," she told him quickly after that.

"Doubtful."

_And I know she loves me._

She got up and started to walk out of the kitchen then. He could see in her walk that she was a little sore. He attributed it entirely to himself.

He was by no means rough with the girl, even doing the gentlemanly thing and putting her on a bed, instead of settling onto the bathroom floor. But she had said it herself, regarding size and all. He interpreted that as an admission that he was better, that he was so much more skilled. And he was. Of course he was. What did _Joe_ have on him?

Not a goddamn thing.

She paused at the entrance and turned towards him, just enough so he could see her clear in profile.

"I don't even know your name," she said in a voice slightly mocking, wholly serious.

"Uh, uh, uh…now that'd be telling, little girl," he easily countered with a tone so aloof.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

She paused for a moment more, her little mouth working its way around difficult words.

"No, I don't…" she confessed. "I love you."

_She loves everybody._

He didn't believe her. Women were not to be trusted. And even if she was just barely this side of legal, she was a woman nonetheless.

When he happened upon her the next week, another Thursday he recalled, he saw her in her bed, some unknown boy under her. He sneered in disgust and turned away.

He knew it was a good idea not to believe her.

_You're just a little girl now,  
You're just a girl who misses her dad…_

He came back two weeks later, a Saturday this time. He had gotten over whatever negative feeling he'd had in response to happening upon her…_them_ like that. He definitely didn't miss her. But he felt he should check on her. Stupid boys would fuck her, but only he would care.

She was sitting on the couch downstairs, a book in hand. _Dracula_ was written on the spine. He had always liked that book.

She was mildly surprised to see him, and as she strode over to him, he thought she was going to show him just how much he had been missed.

The stinging in his cheek had started to subside once he realized that she had slapped him instead. He didn't even know she had that kind of strength.

"Where in the hell where you?!" She demanded of him, her voice high and tight.

"Where was I?" He yelled back, not hesitating a moment to let his voice rise to meet hers. "My life hardly involves you. You're lucky I'm here at all!"

"I thought you said you'd keep an eye on me!" Tears threatened to fall from her dark eyes.

"It wasn't a promise, kid!"

"You said you'd make sure that I was okay! That I was going to be OKAY!"

"Well, that was stupid of me!" He shouted at her. Why in the fuck was she so mad? "Besides, last time I checked on you, looks like you had everything, and every_one_, under control."

He didn't need to add that. Even he winced at the sting.

"You…you _were _there? I…I thought I heard something...someone, but when I looked at the door, nothing was there."

He shrugged noncommittally. Who was he to tell her how to live her life?

"So you stayed away for two weeks, just because I slept with someone?!"

"I stayed away because I fucking _felt _like it. I'm not your fucking keeper, kid, so you better get that through that bald head of yours!"

Again, another low blow.

He watched her run up the stairs, and managed to actually feel worse when she tripped and fell, cursed, then continued on her way. Sighing and rolling his eyes, he was tempted to leave and never come back. Something in him wouldn't let him.

When he arrived in her room, she was lost in a sea of blankets on her bed. He fished her out of the cotton and fluff and looked at her.

She was truly pitiful. Her wig was so very crooked and he face was red with emotion. She was trembling, he noticed. He'd meant to corrupt her, not break her.

"I just wish my dad was still alive," she moaned as she crawled into his arms.

He didn't know how he wound up as her comfort, but he held her regardless.

"Your dad was a monster," he reminded her.

"Yeah…but he was _my_ monster."

_And all the toys that she had._

Three weeks later, he showed up with pizza. She told him she hated pepperoni. That's why he got it.

He had seen her nearly twelve times between her daddy freak out and now. He had slept with her twice. He wasn't keeping count.

Four days after the pepperoni incident, he found her on the couch, straddling some guy. Maybe he was the one from last time. Maybe _this _was Joe. Maybe he didn't fucking care. It was another two weeks before he saw her again. He didn't think she missed him this time.

_Thought I could make you older._

It had been a year, this very night, that the Genetic Opera had changer her life. A whole three hundred and sixty-five days since the girl had last seen her father. Thinking back on it, she had changed. A lot. Daddy dearest would have been proud. Mostly. Maybe. Probably not.

She was a waitress. It was a thankless job. But it paid. And he didn't have to keep her alive on takeout anymore.

She learned to cook, too. He wasn't going to be her personal chef, so the sooner she learned, the better. He'd estimate she'd slept with 12 guys, himself not included. Four were her age, the rest were older. Three were married. No, he wasn't keeping count.

A year ago today and the best thing she'd done for herself was survive. Her dad probably would have been proud of that, after all.

He thought about leaving her to herself. It just seemed like the kind of situation that someone would want to go through alone. Even as his fingers wrapped around the unlocked door, he thought about leaving.

He wouldn't have forgiven himself if he had.

_Thought I could keep you out of harm…_

She was adept with a scalpel, he knew that for sure. Being such a waif-like thing, she was an easy target when she roamed at night and he wasn't by her side. That scalpel had saved her flesh and her life many times in the past year.

Tonight, I threatened to do the opposite.

"Kid…quit it. You're not _this_ stupid."

He plucked the dangerous blade from her quivering hand with a moderate amount of effort and moved it far away from her pale, vein-laced wrist. He tossed the metal as far as he could and hesitantly pulled her to him.

"What the hell has gotten into you?"

She only buried herself deeper into his skin.

"Well, whatever you were thinking," he whispered as he placed a kiss to her soft, new curls, "don't ever think it again. D'ya hear me?"

_But now you're caught in my arms._

He felt her nod so slightly into the crux of his neck and he kissed her hair again. She truly was a stupid girl every now and then. He remembered why he'd promised to keep an eye on her. If he didn't, no one would. And it would be a shame, in his opinion, to see the innocence that still loomed in her eyes flicker out like dead embers.

The daughter of the Repo Man deserved better than that.

She probably fell asleep around fifteen minutes after the fact. He hoisted her up, a little concerned that she was lighter than last time, and proceeded on to her room. Her bed was more inviting, with all of the plastic removed. It looked like a real bed now, and not some bubble meant to keep the world at bay.

He kicked off his boots and slung his jacket over a chair. He didn't lay down with her, but sat on the bed still. Her hand had innocently gripped onto his thigh and for once, he let the motion be completely platonic.

Maybe it was just him, but near-attempted suicide followed by a mini-breakdown was not something that turned him on. Scared little girls didn't do it for him, either.

_And I know she loves me…_

She would tell him a week later that she had no nightmares that night. It was the first time in one whole year that her sleep was simply that. She thanked him with a kiss on the cheek.

It was the sweetest kiss he'd ever received.

_She loves everybody._

It would nearly kill him when a week later, he'd find her in the graveyard of all places. _His_ graveyard. It was Joe. Oh yes, he'd come to remember Joe's face well by now. His hand itched in temptation to grab the nearest rock and lob it at his head. But he didn't care. Her sentiments were hardly reserved just for him.

It would be five weeks before he would see her again.

_Now that we've made is this far..._

It was different tonight. Her body was just…off. She couldn't match his rhythm and she had none to mock.

She fumbled around him as though she had never touched him before. She refused to kiss him, even though he was the only one she would ever indulge with anymore.

He could swear he saw tears in her eyes. That's when he stopped. She protested, but only a little.

He sat on the edge of the bed, naked, sweaty, and reeking of unfinished sex and the girl. It seemed more often that not, he smelled faintly of her. He pushed a hand through his rainbow locks and chanced a look at her.

She would be twenty next month. He absently wondered what she would want. Probably some rare, exotic bug for her ever-growing collection. He'd taken to bringing her one every time he'd come around.

She had a lot of bugs now. He didn't want to seem predictable.

Maybe a coat. She always seemed drawn to his, so maybe he could "dig up" one for her. He heard her sniffle and watched tiny tears track down her face.

Maybe he'd just by her a box or two of Kleenex.

He didn't want to ask what was wrong. He didn't want to care.

He was relieved when she spoke up for him.

_Now that we've made a mess in the car…_

"I'm pregnant."

He was petrified when she spoke up for him.

Brief shock ran across his face. He was sure he gave something away. He wasn't _that_ good at hiding his distress.

Part of him wanted to walk out of the door and never look back. Part of him thought it was going to happen eventually, with some scalpel slut, Z-whore, or worse…Amber. Part of him was kind of glad that she was carrying his child, was _very_ glad it was her and none of the others.

Part of him thought he was truly crazy.

"You're not the father."

All of him was devastated.

She sure knew how to be a fucking _tease_.

"I'm about six weeks. I hadn't seen you for three weeks before then, and didn't see you for two more after. It can't be yours."

He tried hard to swallow the bile that was rising in his throat. Something about this was disgusting. He wasn't quite sure what yet.

"I hate the father. I…slept with him to get back at you. For sleeping with Amber. I hate myself for doing that."

She looked at him full-on. She was waiting for him to betray some sort of emotion. He knew she wanted him to apologize for Amber.

He refused to give her what she wanted.

"I hate the father."

She spoke again when she realized he wasn't.

"You've said that," he finally offered, anger barely restrained in his wavering voice.

"I love you."

_You ought to give it a rest._

"You've said that," he told her again.

At least ten minutes passed before either of them moved. Before either of them said anything. Before either of them _breathed_.

She moved first, standing to pull her soft, terrycloth robe around her freezing, thin body. He didn't look at her. Couldn't look at her. She understood.

"I'll understand if you leave," she told him, looking between him and the door. "And I'll understand if you never come back." 'Please, come back.'

He looked at her, as though he heard her silent plea. She looked like a drowned rat, smothered in yellow terry fabric. Tears marred her face and dark, not-so-new curls dampened with sweat lay close to her head.

He didn't recall ever seeing her look _this_ lost. Not even after the Opera. Not even after she gave up her virginity. Not even after she tried to kill herself.

She looked like she'd fracture in a heartbeat. He knew she'd never be pieced back together.

She looked absolutely pathetic.

He never loved her more.

_But you feel so clean._

He pulled her to him and pressed a kiss just below her jaw. She folded herself to fit him and slowly fell apart in his arms. This way, he knew he could put her back again.

She reeked of unfinished sex, regret, fear, and him. He found comfort in that somehow.

He always knew there'd be a time in his life where he was supposed to be a real stand-up guy. He _always_ knew this girl would find some way to fuck up his life and make him responsible. He had thought things would go in a slightly different way. He knew better than most that life hated consistency.

He might thank her someday. He doubts it, but weirder things have happened.

_Well she craves affection._

"I'll come back. I always do," he spoke softly next to her ear.

He felt her shift under him, unsure of how to move.

"I promised I'd look after you, didn't I?"

She nodded deftly. He pulled her closer.

"You don't have to," she whispered, afraid to speak too loudly and run him away.

"Yeah, I know."

He stroked her back.

"You don't have to like the kid. I…I'll hide it when you come around. I don't want to put you off. I don't want you to hate it more than you already do. I…I don't want you to hate me…"

He shook his head. Christ, she was so stupid sometimes.

He hated that fuck-up who did this to her. He hated that she got herself into this position. He hated that this was because of a revenge fuck gone terribly awry.

He hated that she was _so_ young and _so_ naïve and still had _so _much to learn, despite all of her real life education of late. He hated that she was still so out of touch and hated that the kid growing inside her didn't share half of his genetics.

_So I use protection._

But the kid growing inside her did share half of _her_ genetics. This kid was a part of her. He didn't hate her. He wouldn't hate this kid. Like a fool, he loved her.

Regardless of paternity, he had a sick feeling that he'd love the kid, too.

"I don't hate you, kid," he told her. He smiled at the way she whipped her head up to look at him and really _study_ what he'd said.

"And I don't hate your kid, either. I'll probably lay into the bastard who contributed to this if I ever run into him. But I don't hate either of _you_."

He acknowledged gently that he didn't absolve her of blame fully. She had her responsibility in all of this. But so did he. And he'd accept it all.

He'd accept it over and over again.

"I'll make sure it knows who you are. I won't let it make you into its father."

"Don't sound so impartial, kid, that's your baby you're referring to so passively," he chided her as he slid his forehead against hers. "And hell, the kid can even call me 'daddy', if it wants to."

The look on her face was near bewilderment, now. He loved catching her off guard.

Curious looked good on her.

_And I know she loves me._

"It's not your kid," she reiterated, said bewilderment creeping into her voice.

"Yeah, but it's _your_ kid," he said, as if that solved everything. "But I mean, _you _can always call me daddy, too."

She smiled at him then, a true, easy smile. He hadn't seen one of those in a long while. She also rolled her eyes at him. He was glad to see that, too.

"You're so weird," she near-giggled.

"Yeah, but you like it."

She kissed just under his jaw, a reflection of what he'd done earlier. She hugged him then and relaxed into his grip.

"No, I love it," she whispered. "I love you."

He leaned backwards, taking her with him. He maneuvered them into the middle of the bed and peeled off her robe. He wasn't going to finish what they had started; the time had long passed for that. He didn't feel like it, either. He just wanted her skin against his.

Almost hesitantly, he rested a large, world-weary hand on her stomach. She looked at him uncertainly and he looked at her like he had a plan for this. And he somehow he probably did. He _always _had a plan for everything.

He kissed her then, a chaste kiss; a simple meeting of the lips. It was probably the most gentle he had ever been with her. He didn't necessarily like it.

He didn't necessarily dislike it, either.

"You've grown on me, kid, you know that?"

She nodded slightly.

"You know I'm not gonna be okay with your little _rendezvous' _anymore, right?"

"I'm not going to be okay with yours, either."

He smiled then, large and almost feral. He laughed heartily and pulled her closer to him.

"Deal," he told her.

She looked up at him and tried to match his smile. It'd be years yet until she mastered that one.

"You'll be here still when I wake up, right? You never stay…but will you this time?"

Like a lost little kitten, still. And he was the big, bad wolf still. He had a feeling he was going to like this set-up.

"The sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you can wake up and figure it out."

He heard her sigh in frustration. He loved riling her up.

"You're impossible."

"Damn straight."

He smirked to himself, more than self-satisfied. They'd deal with details in the morning. There would always be tomorrow mornings.

"I love you," she whispered again as sleep crawled into her voice.

He kissed her forehead in response.

He'd never said he loved her. She never asked him to. But he knew she knew and he had given her more than he was willing as it was.

He would be there when she woke up.

That was better than any word of love he could ever have confessed.

_She loves everybody._

* * *

**a/n: so...that's it. i hope it was good. i think it's okay. i liked it enough. oh, and this was a one-shot, so...just a heads up. thanks so much for reading! and thanks for stopping by!**


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